


Paperwork

by Interrobam



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Lilo & Stitch (2002), MIB - Fandom, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Alien Character(s), Community: disney_kink, F/M, Fanon: Agent K is Agent Coulson's Father, Father-Son Relationship, Humor, MIB, Paperwork, Pie, SHIELD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-10
Updated: 2012-07-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 13:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interrobam/pseuds/Interrobam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Coulson came in to work one day to find a single manila folder, placed neatly at the center his desk, containing a report scrawled in ballpoint pen on a stack of crumpled, moistened cocktail napkins stapled to each other in what could only barely pass for chronological order. Upon further inspection, he realized it was a "report" from Agent Bubbles meeting with the Grand Councilwoman of the United Galactic Federation. He sighed, reaching for the phone and cradling it to his ear as he dialed his father's office number.</p><p>    “You know son," Agent K's voice grumbled over the line, "it's been a long time since I've had practice deciphering something a drunk alien wrote on a napkin.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paperwork

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Disney Animated Kink Meme.

It had been a long time since Agent Coulson came in to work to find a single manila folder, placed neatly at the center his desk, containing a report scrawled in ballpoint pen on a stack of crumpled, moistened cocktail napkins stapled to each other in what could only barely pass for chronological order. Not as long as one might think, he does work with Tony Stark, but a long time nonetheless. 

Coulson gave the “report” a long, hard look. He leafed through a few “pages”, coming across Agent Bubbles' signature. His eyebrow arched. He didn't expect this kind of work from Agent Bubbles. On napkin five there was a shimmering red smudge. He rubbed some of it off with his fingertip, examining it closely. He knew it was lipstick, and more importantly, he knew whose lipstick. He sighed, reaching carefully past his Captain America Coffee Cup (vintage, impeccable quality, the civilians on ebay had nothing on the top speed government computer he really should have been using for something work related) for the phone. He cradled it to his ear and pressed star, then three, trying to decipher a particularly vague scribble as a tone rang cheerily in his ear.

“You know son, it's been a long time since I've had practice deciphering something written entirely in lipstick” Agent Coulson had long since lost his ability to be phased by his father's skills in premonition (or, more likely, the subtle planting of bugs upon his person to “check up” on him). “Those were my bachelor days.”

“You have it worse than me then, mine is all slurred ballpoint.” He furrowed his brow, flipping through the “report”. “Towards the end it just turns into... crudely drawn stick figures?”

“Well, tell you what. You're a young man, you still go to the bars and such don't you? Get ugly red phone numbers that don't make sense sober? Well, I for one have been in this game long before we had word processors to monitor our penmanship for us, so I've got an eye for terrible handwriting-”

“You didn't use typewriters?” Agent K had long since lost his ability to be phased by his son's needling.

“Son you ever try whipping out a typewriter in a crowded bar with three glasses of bourbon already in you? It is difficult to stay incognito. Now, before I was interrupted, I was going to suggest we meet up for some pie and coffee to try and hammer these out together. The regular place.”

“Aren't you busy? With Agent J?” Agent Coulson was not in the mood to be lectured about how he handled New Mexico. Or how many favors his father had to call in to keep M.I.B, out of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s business, considering the fact that Thor was technically an alien. Additionally, he had just eaten breakfast, and he knew his father would tell him about “back in his day” when they were “grateful to have a half rotten potato peel on their plate” if he didn't finish his pie. It was too early in the morning for this.

“Oh, don't worry about it, he has his own business. I'll be there in ten.” Agent Coulson opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by a click as his father hung up. Sighing, he gathered the report together and carried it out of his office, nodding at a page as he walked towards the elevator.

“Junior Agent Holley, hold my calls, I have to attend the trans-generational wood fiber based cleansing square debriefing.” He turned into the elevator, pressing the button for the bottom floor. With any luck he would be out of the building before the page thought back on this meeting and realized what exactly she had just been told. 

When he arrived at the diner Agent K was already at the counter, deep into his coffee and apple pie. Next to him was a plate with a slice of pecan, Agent Couson's favorite, still steaming hot. It was hard to stay mad at the old man. He sauntered up to the stool and put his own folder next to his father's, which was already open, its contents strewn about the counter.

“Morning.” Agent K grunted into his pie.

“Morning. Now, let's get started on this mess, shall we?”

It didn't take long to figure out how this mess had started out. The 626 incident in Hawaii. The Grand Councilwoman of the United Galactic Federation had not been so kind as to inform the Government of the intergalactic fugitive on their planet, but M.I.B. had detected a breach of the ArcNet and put out a notice to a few other agencies. S.H.I.E.L.D. had gotten wind of the situation first and notified Agent Bubbles, a senior in his field currently operating in deep cover, to hold down the fort until Agent Romanov could arrive. To prevent inter-agency clashing with such a sensitive case in such a small area, M.I.B. stood back and allowed S.H.I.E.L.D. to operate alone. The Grand Councilwoman had sent her own agents, unbeknownst to the human operatives. When the dust had settled and a compromise had been reached, there was only the paperwork to fill out. Agent Bubbles for S.H.I.E.L.D., The Grand Councilwoman for M.I.B.

That's when things went a bit... off procedure.

~ 

The Grand Councilwoman and Agent Bubbles had retired together, nostalgic about Roswell and Mosquito preservation efforts, to a nearby bar. The Grand Councilwoman had attempted a disguise in the form of a wig and makeup, although the red lipstick she borrowed from Agent Romanov, who had arrived on a charter plane two hours too late and rather ill of humor, did not fall well on her lipless mouth. Agent Bubbles asserted several times throughout the “report” that he thought she looked nice anyway.

At the bar there had been much complaining about the impending reports they would have to hand in to Headquarters. Apparently, the Grand Councilwoman had very little regard for M.I.B.'s filing methods, and Agent Bubbles had quite a bit to say in regards to S.H.I.E.L.D's electronic paperwork system. Really, the first half of the “reports” boiled down to meandering complaints and appeared to be self acknowledged first drafts, with notes in the “margins” such as “Put in that thing the Grand Councilwoman just said” and “The word for ngh'lieh in English is...?”. The drinks, judging by the watery rings that began appearing on the napkins a third of the way into the “report”, had arrived soon enough, and were wholeheartedly consumed. The complaints quickly devolved into senseless whining. Agent Bubbles wanted more vacation time, while the Grand Councilwoman felt that earth was way too close to the sun and wanted it moved. Eventually they had begun writing on each other's reports, empathizing about how difficult it was to make HQ understand what you were trying to do and how complicated things had gotten since Roswell. The spelling had devolved rapidly.

“Back in the day we trusted our agents to do their work prorperly. You didn't have to write a report unles something went wrong. This didn't go wrong I hanbled the 626 thing all right.” Agent Bubble had declared in ballpoint pen.

“He's right he did good job you know someon threw book at him? Make him your Grand Councilwoman but a man and of earth or the mosiquitor preserve of something.” The Grand Councilwoman had contributed beneath this.

“Thank you G.C. you've a good person you shoudl be Grand Councilwomen but of the glaxy”

“I am.”

“You can be Grand Councilwomen of my galrxy.”

“You can be Grand Councilguy of my mosquiter reserved”

After that it got rather scrambled, the slant of the ballpoint going past even Agent K's deciphering ability and the lipstick devolving into a language that was clearly not human. Agent Bubbles at least attempted to make his report clear through stick figures, and there was a two coffee long argument between agents about whether this showed the “ingenuity under dire circumstances” or the “sheer boneheadedness” of S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents. The last legible notes were written in Agent Bubbles' report, and read “Did yuo get those pnants on sale becase at my house they'ld be 100% off!” in ballpoint pen and “did someon hit yr face with a dictionary bcause yr cheekbones r defined” in lipstick, followed by “Actualyl yes, Stich dib.” in pen once more. 

The debate on what exactly to do about this waged on for four additional cups of coffee and half of a second apple pie. Eventually it was settled that they would request an additional, actually coherent report on the incident tomorrow, have the Agents involved attend a few workshops about proper coworker relationships, and keep the “reports” in their safes to read out loud at their respective Christmas parties once the correct level of drunken brazenness had been achieved. Father and son left the diner on good terms and with significantly less confusion than they had entered it. Agent Coulson accepted Agent K's offer of a ride back to headquarters, ranting as he buckled in about losing an auction on some old trading card he needed to complete his collection. His father reassured him that he would get another opportunity, feeling very confident and just a bit smug about having placed the winning bid in that auction. Said card was currently sitting, wrapped in patriotic paper, in his desk, awaiting his son's upcoming birthday. Now if only he knew what the hell to give Agent J for Christmas.

~ 

When Agent Bubbles woke up he was only aware of a pleasant warmth by his side in the shape of a very familiar alien and the sense that he had gotten a lot more accomplished last night than he had expected to. The alien muttered something in a foreign tongue into his shoulder, shifting ever so slightly.

“Good morning Grand Councilwoman.”

“Nm. Me-quesha n'ial- Ugh. Pardon me. Good morning Agent Bubbles.” She rubbed her eyes, sitting up ever so slightly and looking fondly down at him. “You know what would be marvelous right now? Coffee.” Agent Bubbles laughed long and low.

“I suppose I'll have to make it?” The Grand Councilwoman waved her hand casually, now sitting in full and looking around for her shorts.

“Those infernal little pots and powders. I can't make horns or hooves of them.” She gave up on her shorts, instead fumbling with her communicator to check the time “Please?” Agent Bubbles made his way off of his bed and over to his closet, pulling a robe over himself and throwing a spare one at his partner.

“I do hope we won't have to fill out any paperwork about this incident.” He joked as she pulled the terrycloth over her head.

“Yes, it really isn't...” The Grand Councilwoman started suddenly, turning to the human beside her in horror “Oh... Blitznak.” She laid her hand on her head as if in pain. “What in tralfaz did we hand in to HQ last night?”


End file.
